


what's yours is mine

by cadaeic



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, a vague suggestion of ineffability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadaeic/pseuds/cadaeic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parv liked not having a heart so much, he did it again. Spoilers for Blood and Chaos #48.</p><p>Also, a few musings on the origin of William Strife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's yours is mine

**He danced with mortals.**

**He was a dark, chaotic beast and they were bright wild things, energetic and bursting with such life that was glorious and strange to him. His very presence whittled them down and dulled their light, but still he was drawn to that moment before the dusk where they shone with glory.**

**They called him cruel, and they hated him, and they feared him.**

**He didn’t know why they did that.**

**He wanted to know, though.**

**So he vivisected them.**

* * *

It had been a _joke_.

Parv was blubbering away, putting on the fakest of sobs and crossing his arms in actual annoyance. He kept going on and on and on about that damned demonic pickaxe and that demon that happened to just trip and fall into the lava. It had gotten past the point of believable sadness and was now just not _funny_ anymore.

The mock prayer that Strife had offered to the gods was filling him with fey trickster feels, and he was feeling a bit naughty. Naughty enough to break one or two of his self imposed rules, set so very long ago.

He grasped around for some strange feelings that he had not felt for a very long time, grabbed onto a few threads of- of _magic_ , and pulled. And he had beckoned Parvis up to him-

And reached into his chest-

And pulled out his heart.

It was still beating, pulsating to the song that was Parv’s miserable life. Wow, human hearts looked weird with those tubes sticking out and that pinkness was just plain _disgusting_. Strife stared at it, turning it this way and that way.

Parv looked a bit like a dead fish, his mouth opened in a perfect little ‘o’ as the initial shock overtook him. “Wow,” he said, “that’s- that’s _horrible_.” But already, the emotion had drained from his voice and he sounded slightly interested as he said, “you’re horrible.”

Strife shrugged. He knew he was.

“You know,” said Parvis, “I do feel better now. I’m above emotion now.”

What?

“I don’t have to be trapped in this mausoleum of sorrow. I’m free now, Will. Not constrained by these irrational emotions.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Strife blinked. Was this how humans reacted to being heartless?

Did they feel that burdened by their emotions?

Parv was pacing now, constantly moving in a suspiciously sharklike manner. “I can just get on with whatever needs to be done. This is amazing. I’m not- I’m not there anymore.”

To himself, Strife muttered under his breath, “What have I done?”

“There’s no Parvis anymore,” and Parv turned to him, dark eyes shining. “Yeah, I still look like this ‘Parvis’, and I have flesh and skin and all that other junk, but there’s nothing here.”

Strife had had enough. He marched up to Parvis, who was slyly asking him if he wanted to ‘compare business cards’, and he plunged the bloody heart back.

Immediately, Parv’s face contorted into a strange kind of horror as he had realised what he had done. He sobbed for a bit, blubbered about how he had turned into a ‘Patrick Bateman’, and Strife thought-

Yup, he liked this Parv better.

* * *

**The mortals didn’t really take too kindly to being vivisected. They screamed a bit, and then they stopped after a while, and none of that was very helpful. But, he found the source of their fear, and also the source of their love and their hate and all those other things that didn’t make sense.**

**He found the heart.**

**It was a fleshy little thing, squatting in the middle of the body, essentially a giant pump for the blood that he so revelled in. Conceptually, though, it was where what the mortals called emotion lived.**

**He didn’t really understand that, either.**

**So he took the blood from the mortals he slew, and he took the dust that they returned to, and with dark magicks, he fashioned himself his very own heart.**

* * *

Later-

He was awoken by the chirp of an alarm.

Groaning, Strife propped himself up on his bed (that was nestled between the wires of his sorting system) and reached for his communicator. It said that the time was the middle of the day, which Strife frowned at. Yeah, he had stayed up late again, working out the literal and not so literal chinks in his armour.

There was also a message from Parv.

He rubbed at his eyes and gazed at it, and then felt his heart plummet.

<acparvis> Strife.  
<W_Strife> Parvis?  
<W_Strife> What is it?  
<acparvis> I'm sorry, but there's no "Parvis" here right now.

Parv was using proper capitalisation and grammar. What in the actual fuck. And that seemed familiar, but Strife just could not place it.

<W_Strife> What.  
<acparvis> I don’t have my heart.

Oh.

<W_Strife> Enjoying feeling soulless?  
<acparvis> Soulless indeed.  
<acparvis> Soulless and free.  
<W_Strife> Unfortunately, I don't have your heart this time. Love to shove it back, but it seems it wasn't me who done it.  
<W_Strife> Maybe I should keep it with me, so you don’t lose it. =)

He laughed at the thought, but worry was building up.

<acparvis> Very romantic, Strife. I'm sure I'd love for you to do that, but I can't right now.  
<acparvis> Because I can't feel.  
<acparvis> I'm free from all emotion, love included.  
<W_Strife> And free from the constraints of terrible, terrible grammar and syntax.

Strife stared at the screen, feeling himself blush furiously at what the fuck Parv was implying. He had typed that snarky response to stop himself from typing just about anything else, but worry drove him to say-

<W_Strife> Oh, Jesus Christ. Did you do this to yourself?  
<acparvis> Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't.

Oh, good. Parv may have cast away all emotions, but he could still be fucking sarcastic.

<W_Strife> Good job. Now you’re a real boy.  
<W_Strife> Wait, you were a real boy before, when you weren’t all creepy. Now you’re just not.  
<W_Strife> Also, that is some terrible sarcasm you have going on.  
<acparvis> I'll take that to heart.  
<acparvis> Oh wait.

Strife shouldn’t have laughed at that, but he did.

<W_Strife> Look, Parv, I tore out your heart as a joke. As a fucking joke. And now you’re liking it?  
<acparvis> As a joke? Why would you hand out freedom as a joke?

Fucking humans.

<W_Strife> Because it ain't freedom.  
<W_Strife> You’re removing the option to feel things, and removing choices means a stifling of choices.  
<W_Strife> Parv, just put your heart back.  
<acparvis> I'd rather not.

This elicited a growl at the screen.

<W_Strife> I'll come over there and I'll shove it into your stupid heart cavity, and you’ll be back to normal.  
<W_Strife> I’ll punch you back into sanity, I will!  
<acparvis> Was I really sane before?

He had to think about that one, and opted not to answer.

<W_Strife> So, doin' anything with your new found "freedom"?  
<acparvis> I'm getting back into business, Strife.  
<W_Strife> What kinda business? Like my kind?  
<acparvis> The heartless part, yes. Solving problems, no.  
<acparvis> This will help me in my quest for blood and chaos. With the little regret I had, I can throw myself into this without any guilt whatsoever.

Strife thought about this, thought about the glee that Parvis had felt with the blood and the darkness-

And just how terrifying he would fucking be without that.

<W_Strife> I’m sticking that organ back into you.  
<acparvis> Good luck.

Again, he growled at the screen, and then he rolled out of bed and headed towards his armour. He was going to get ready.

* * *

**The heart didn’t really do much at first. It hung limply in the area that might have been called a chest, and it beat.**

**He wasn’t sure what he was expecting.**

**Maybe he needed some kind of body to actually experience these emotions with.**

**Why was he chasing after this illusive sensation? He supposed he was bored with who he was, really.**

**He was tired of who he was, something dark and fearsome and bloodied and magical.**

**He was liking the idea of a body, liking the idea of being constrained by the laws of the physical world and having to work within them. A body was sounding like a really good idea.**

* * *

As Strife sauntered into the base, he gave a thought or two to subtlety and then promptly discarded it. Subterfuge was for other people, not a proud CEO like himself! He paused to admire the sunflowers in the garden that he had planted, and wondered if Parvis had ever appreciated them.

He certainly wouldn’t now.

He called out for Parv, but there was no answer. There was no sign of any Parvises anywhere, either. Strife had a quick look in the villager spawner that Ridgedog had made and the twisted, winded corridors that Parv rarely used, and yet there was no soulless guitarist to mock him.

That was fine. First, he needed to locate Parv’s heart.

A look in the sorting system didn’t reveal any errant hearts. Strife grumbled to himself that at least Parv had a sorting system now, and not just a clusterfuck of tubes. Well, he still had a clusterfuck of diamond chests, and Strife dragged himself upstairs to check every single chest.

Nope.

He noticed that he was getting rather hungry, so he helped himself to some bread. He had never been quite sure about how safe it was to eat stale bread that had been sitting in a chest for some time, but everyone else did it.

He was pretty attached to this body, though. He liked to look after it.

He also grabbed a few machines that Parv had stashed away, seeing no need for them. Strife probably didn’t need them either, but at least he could tell what the hell they were for. Sighing, he left the shambles that was Parv’s storage and began to wander towards the bedroom. On the way, he noticed that there were a few holes in the wall, so he spent a few minutes fixing them up and making them look better.

When he had finished with that, with still no sight of the Parv, Strife began to check under the beds. The amount of dust was immense and absolutely horrifying. To himself, Strife said, “Does he ever clean this place out? He needs a janitor! Or a cleaner!”

“That’s what you were for,” said Parvis.

Strife almost fell backwards. He jumped up, whirled around and nearly hissed. “GAH,” he said. “JESUS CHRIST ON A POPSICLE STICK.” Realising just how undignified he must have looked after saying such insightful things, he began to dust himself off. He straightened up and even unconsciously pawed at his hair. “Hi,” he said, as calmly as he could say it.

“Hello, Strife.” Parv looked at him with vague interest, like a scientist examining a fascinating new specimen.

Strife stared back. “That's... really creepy,” he said. He didn’t like admitting it, but he was a bit freaked out. Even more so now, because before he could have stopped it at any time.

He didn’t like not having a handle on the situation.

“Is it?” Parv tilted his head in a parody of caring. “I'm sure I would be sorry if I cared.”

Strife elected not to answer that. “So, wanna tell me where you’re hidin’ your heart, Parvis? Or should I turn this place upside down lookin’ for it?” He tried to put on the most casual tone he could muster, but he was sure he was failing.

“What do you think my answer to that would be?” Parv didn’t sound interested at all.

He shrugged. “I thought I was being polite by asking.” Slowly and deliberately, he reached into his inventory and pulled out his Atomic Disassembler, and held it in front of him. It cast its odd cyan light on Parv’s unmoving figure, giving him a ghostly look.

Parv said, “Oh, Strife, I couldn't care any less.”

That wasn’t right.

“Be my guest.”

This wasn’t right at all.

“This is a trap,” Strife said. “You can’t just let me do things like this. You can’t just not care.”

“Try me, Strife.”

Strife took a step forward, and Parv didn’t even move. “You- you know I’m not gonna find it just by looking around. You better not have fucking thrown it into a volcano.” He laughed at that, a bit nervously.

“It would be a similar fate to something I once held dear. So fitting, as well.” There was no smile at this.

Strife wanted to ask: how could you be so callous? How could the loss of a fucking lump of meat have changed you so?! But he didn’t, and instead, he took a step forward.

Parv looked at him quizzically. “Oh my,” he said, “are you _scared_ , Strife?”

He hadn’t realised he was shaking. Shit. He took another step, casting his weapon aside. He gathered himself up, and he realised what he had to do. Again, he reached for the threads of who he had once been, and again he felt the rush of something dark and primal.

He was so close to Parvis now, beyond the boundaries of personal space.

He could almost kiss him.

Fuck it.

With one hand, Strife drew Parvis towards him and kissed him on the lips, deeply and tenderly. With the other, he reached into his own chest and pulled out his own heart, the heart he had hewn from blood and dust so very long, and he plunged it into Parv’s chest.

* * *

**He carefully designed the body, choosing to model it in what some might have called a humanoid form. He crafted bright green eyes that shone and tousled dirty blond hair, and he carefully gave the face a nice beard.**

**He needed a name for this body, so he cast around the myriad cultures and found _William_ , which meant protector. That fit his new goal, at least.  He would be a protector, he decided. If now he was a destructive thing, he would help others in this new form.**

**A last name was supposed to show where you came from, right?**

**He came from darkness and chaos.**

**He came from _Strife_.**

* * *

Fuck.

The pain was horrendous, and it was all Strife could do to not scream in agony. Shit, he hadn’t been without a heart for so long, and fuck his mind was full of so many expletives.

He fell over. It must have looked pretty funny, but he didn’t care.

Parv staggered back as well, his hand clutching at his chest, conflicting expressions rushing across his face. He recovered quicker than Strife did, and the first things to burst from his mouth was a panicked “Will!”

Laying on the floor, his head whirling, Strife noticed that he was letting out a rather inhuman growl. How undignified. “I haven’t _done_ this in _so_ long,” he said, and the words felt weird on his tongue. He was enunciating the wrong words, placing strange emphasises, a lot like how he used to when he first got this body. “ _Used_ … used to do _this_ every single day.”

Parvis was kneeling next to him now. He looked like he wanted, needed to do something but wasn’t sure what to do. “Why did you do that?” he asked, and the worry on his face was a sight for sore eyes.

“Because,” Strife said, and he breathed in. “Because I love you, you fucking _dipshit_! And unlike you, I don’t turn into a _raving_ lunatic _without_ my _heart_. Fuck me _so much_.” He clutched at his chest and moaned. “It _fucking_ hurts.”

“Then,” Parv said, “take it back, please! Take it back if it hurts!”

“ _No_ ,” Strife snarled, and the force of it made Parv draw back. “Find yours first!” His growling had turned into a strange, strangled keening. “I’d _forgotten_ what it was like to not have one. Was fucking _born_ without it. I saw what other people had with it and I _wanted_ that. I fucking _earned_ my love for you and _this_ is how you repay me?!”

Parv stared at Strife, obvious guilt and hurt in his eyes. He got up, and he ran towards that fucking sign he had put up to pay homage to his Picky. Strife watched as Parv moved the sign slightly and retrieved something dark and red from behind it.

Half to himself, Strife continued to complain. “So I _made_ that heart you got there from blood and dust, and _with_ it I realised what _tragedies_ , what _chaos_ I had sown, what terrible fucking things I had done, and I had _laughed_.” He smiled at the thought.

It wasn’t quite true. It was only when he got the body that he did that.

Parv was back now, sitting beside him and he was holding his heart in his hand, and he was looking very hesitant- as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

A funny thought occurred. “Wonder _what_ it'd be like if you _gave_ me your _heart_ and you kept mine.” He paused. “I’d like that,” he admitted, very quietly.

Parv looked down at him. “I mean,” he said, slowly, “if it doesn’t kill any of us, I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“It won’t,” said Strife. “I _know_ hearts. They ain’t _fragile_.” And he reached up, grabbed the human heart that Parv held in his hand, and shoved it into his own chest.

A few long seconds passed, and hesitantly, Parv asked, “Are you okay?”

The heart was sitting a little funny in his chest, but he could cope. Mostly, it just felt weird, but he was sure he could get used to it. He sat up and grunted. “What do you think, Parvis?” he snapped, and he was glad to see his own sense of sarcasm was intact.

He was a little surprised to hear that he was purring. Fucking animalistic instincts. He should have put this body together better to avoid that.

Parv was patting him on the head as if he was an actual cat.

Jesus Christ.

He liked that, though.

“And now,” he said, “You’re gonna be a part of me. Inside me. Shit, that's actually weird, now that I think about it. Whatever. Hope I don’t suddenly develop any unsavoury Parvy habits.”

Parv gasped in mock horror. “My habits are great!”

“Obviously,” Strife said, “you’d think so. And now I’m going to go unconscious.” And he promptly fell onto Parv’s lap.

He was going to really regret that later.

* * *

**The possession of a body hadn’t actually revealed the secrets of emotions, though.**

**But attending college had.**

**And maybe being with Parv helped, a little.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an RP I did today with thechaoticguitarist, mixed with my own weird headcanons. :D


End file.
